Phantasmagoria
by BerryBliss
Summary: Sometimes, love keeps you together even as life keeps you apart. (The Night Circus!AU, Illusionist!AkaKuro, full summary to come)


**So, hey guys! Recently, I have had the pleasure of reading _The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern,_ which is a beautifully crafted book. It has its flaws, but it's really great. I recommend you guys read it hahahaha xD Got sucked in immediately - so, moving on, I had this despicable thought in my mind...**

 ** _"Why not make an AU"?_ **

**Thus, this. :D Hope you guys like it. I'm really eager about this one. Hopefully inspiration will keep coming, not only for this one, but also for other stories which have been left untouched for more than half a year. *sweatdrops***

 **Warning for: hinted dark themes, shifts in tense, writing inconsistency, fail in descriptions, stuff that doesn't make sense, and bad author.**

 **I'd planned on making Akashi- _Marco_ and Celia- _Kuroko_ , but then I just figured I'd mesh some backstory and storyline according to which is more appropriate. Kind of. Like how Akashi has the weirder father figure of the two (weirder is putting it mildly), like Celia does in the book.**

 **This is Akashi's childhood chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

It is by noon that his morning show finishes, an hour of so-called illusions and magic tricks. As always, it is received well - and he cannot expect any less from himself, being a renowned performer of his time.

The Bateleur [1] would be holding one more performance later in the afternoon, sooner than he would hope to have, and another in the evening. Initially, he'd hoped to keep to himself in his study, as he was a rather solitary man who kept himself busy with his passion rather than one who allowed himself to be distracted by capricious fancy.

The predicament he came to be stuck with was one he imagined he would soon have to experience one way or another, but never in this abrupt a time.

The disturbance came when there was a knock at his door. He made himself heard, telling whoever it was to come in. It turned out to be the man of letters who supposedly had delivered a letter and a 'package' that was for him. He had heard of no such arrangement, but knew the gist of what this was about.

With a skilled hand, he took the letter from the mailman's hands, skimming through the contents indifferently. Saito thanks the mailman and is off with him, switching his attention to the 'package' delivered to him. Strange wording, really, when it isn't a package at all, but in all truth, a child.

He is sitting on a stool, eyes fixated on the floor, not daring to meet his.

"She's named you Seijuro, I see."

He remains despondent. There is no response.

"Do you know why you're here, Seijuro?"

Red orbs clash with gold ones. They are hauntingly similar to a pair, one which he remembers with distinct clarity, only - where there should have been despair, there was only stark emptiness.

"Because you're my father?"

In a whimsical moment, he grabs the boy's chin and sees it all for himself. The past he has long since abandoned, and the future he would have to persist. The future is impossible without Seijuro, this he knows, and for a moment it is almost cruel-

"It's because they didn't want you. They overlooked your worth too much. It is just as well - if it weren't for that, I wouldn't want you either."

His existence teeters in the balance, close to breaking yet at the same time resolved to fight back. Somewhere along the sidelines, a flute breaks, the contents spilling out in streaks of red, onto faded yellow parchment.

Saito's eyes widen a fraction, and then he laughs, from the bottom of his lungs. "Your control is faulty. We'll have to work on that, won't we?" Amused at his son's attempt on resistance, he continues. "There is flame in your eyes. You'll be the perfect vessel, Seijuro. The gods are good."

That's what he tells him. Seijuro, opposed to his father, has his voice come out in an almost withered whisper.

"What's going to happen?"

The Bateleur turns on his heel. The doves flap their wings in the cages, wildly, with a foreign force that is not always there. Seijuro blinks, and all of a sudden, the room is engulfed in flames - Seijuro steps back. They are white flames, he realizes, cold to the touch - flame that cannot so much as harm him - Saito leans in, to whisper in his ear-

"Wouldn't you want to know?"

They begin from there, and he is left hanging every single time.

* * *

There is a knock at the door leading into The Bateleur's backstage suite. It is an arrangement long due, one Saito has expected for a long time now.

The door opens, revealing a man in a grey suit. It's Seijuro's father who speaks first -

"All those times you have declined my invitations, and it is only now you come."

"You'll have to forgive me, Saito. I may not look like it, but I'm a very busy man."

"Of course, of course." Saito mumbles. "So? What brings you all the way to Toledo? Shouldn't you be elsewhere, doing what you're best at?"

There is the slightest sliver of irritation on the other man's face, but it is masked with discretion and a calm façade. "That's too much, don't you think?"

"You know this by now, Eiji, but I am a very impatient man. If you have something to say, spit it out."

For a moment, his grey eyes trail to Seijuro. His lips quirk ever so slightly. "How convenient to have a successor. I have searched the world, and have yet to find mine."

"Then you simply haven't looked enough." Saito smirks. "I look forward to what your student will offer in the future."

"It is a selective process. I must be careful in choosing." Eiji's hands are clammy under his gloves. He tugs at his tie, laughing. The laugh does not reach his eyes though, when he adds, "You could have spared your son, but you didn't. Why?"

For moments, there is silence. A jolt comes over Seijuro when his father drapes an arm over his shoulder, hand gripping it firmly. He does not flinch.

"Show him what you can do, Seijuro."

Seijuro does not understand. The hand grips tighter. This time it's harder to not cry out.

"Come now. Uncle won't mind."

With a nod coming from Eiji, Seijuro starts by following where his father's gaze is fixed at. There are bouquets of roses at the table, from admirers and appreciative audience members who witness enchantments of his making. He starts with the bouquet closest within his peripheral range, raising it up in midair - then the one next to it, a bouquet of the purest white. He unravels them, ribbons unlacing and wrappings unfurling, leaving the roses bare. He simultaneously does the same with the other three, then separating blossoms from stems and thorns, plucking one by one. He makes them dance in the air - and for a moment they remind him of spring, of springs he can never turn back to.

The thorns dart down to the ground, close to his feet. The petals stop their dance and fall ever so slowly, gently and without sound-

Then he burns them, reducing them to ashes. With a snap of his finger, the ashes swirl around and start coming together into one, taking the form of a blossom ashen grey, drained of all life. Floating adrift, it heads toward where Eiji is standing, falling onto his palm.

Eiji remains silent for a moment, and encircles his hand around Seijuro's manifestation, ebony black turning into blood red.

"Fascinating." Eiji remarks, "He's a natural."

"Thank you."

Saito smiles. "Seijuro is my son. It's only to be expected."

"With the right guidance and training, well, there's a chance he can outdo even you, Saito."

"You would like that, wouldn't you?"

Eiji shrugs, taking the hint. He is certainly not shaken, not when he has his own tricks up his sleeve too.

"I simply leave it up to fate to decide that for me," is the humble reply, "Although, now that I know the nature of your selected one, I suppose it's only right for me to let you make the first move."

"Fair enough."

"I see he hasn't been marked yet, though. Saito, have you been keeping him in the dark?"

His father does not say anything for a moment, moving towards a bejewelled casket on the far side of the room. It is one which Seijuro makes out to be one his father always carries with him, no matter where they are at. Inside of it are two rings - one is gold and one is silver - both of them cushioned in red felt. Saito takes out the gold one and beckons him to come over.

"Hold out your finger."

He remembers a room there and then - his room in his father's chateau. There they practice magic. He remembers the slits and blood falling on the carpet, trickling down from the scars his father inflicted on him.

He hesitates.

His father bends down and grabs his hand, slipping the ring on his pointing finger. It fades, leaving only a red mark marking his skin.

"It is done."

There is an approving nod. Eiji stares at Seijuro one last time before he leaves, unable to keep from smiling.

"You resemble your mother very much."

They never see Eiji again after that, not for a long time, at least. Saito seems to like it that way.

* * *

There are changes, but then, in the end, he knows it's all the same.

There is a difference between cherished and coveted - subtle enough such that they are two things capable of being discerned, despite the fact that he's scarcely known the former - and though he has, it is but a far cry. He is intelligent and insightful for one his age, yet there are so many things beyond his control. Sometimes, his mind becomes his greatest enemy. There are voices, and they tell him things. He's starting to learn how to shut them out, but they come back again from time to time, worming their way deeper into his mind.

There are times when he tells himself to just breathe. He feels as if he is cornered, and he cannot say he likes it. It is suffocating, maddening.

Over time, everything starts getting sucked into a maelstrom of sorts. His surroundings start taking the form of something else, everything dyed in monotone.

What streaks through shades of grey is magic - or at least, that's what he calls it. It is pleasing to the eye, and he sees it how others can't, in both good and bad. He's come to love it all the same - because despite everything, magic gives him purpose, and hope in all its splendour. Over the years, his father shows him everything there is to know about. They travel from place to place, and what makes the experience well worth it can be how Seijuro looks forward to these spectacles, hoping one day he'll be able to conjure such things too, just with a slight movement or touch of hand. It is like that when his father performs - he entraps them all in a cage, a cage of frightening beauty that can go so far as to have people believe that they are in a dream - a dream that they hope will never end. What's frightening is that when one is exposed to it, there is only wonder to be seen, and it is the wonder that dooms them all and lifts up their spirits just as well.

Out of them all, it is Seijuro who sees the cage in its true form, haunting his dreams constantly, even going so far as to cover the scope of his everyday life. When he wakes up, it's a nightmare all over again. His father says that he knows it's for his own good, to devote himself to it and to appreciate its arts, at the same time knowing better that being disconnected from reality can be one's downfall.

 _All things seen are temporal, and things unseen are eternal. [2]_

Some say it is illusion, some even say it is a miracle, but Seijuro knows better. It is a gruelling process to learn, especially when a nameless figure is shadowing your every step, and there is nowhere to go but forward.

In the world of magic, he learns that there are no miracles, only what is thought to be impossible made possible by more than ordinary means. [3]

* * *

"Do you remember what your mother looked like, Seijuro?"

It almost comes off innocent in nature, yet there is always an ulterior motive to his father's actions. That much is clear.

"No," Seijuro then answers honestly. He remembers vaguely hair a shade darker than his own, cascading down in smooth, silky strands. He remembers combing through them whilst listening to sweet lullabies and bedtime stories. He remembers a mother's touch and a mother's warmth, yet he is starting to forget over time.

Eight years, all gone in the blink of an eye. Seijuro's lost count - he can make a rough estimate, yes, but there is no purpose in counting back days long gone, all having served their purpose to reach up to the one he is living now. It is an anchor, one that keeps him moving.

"You once asked me if I still thought of her. Do you remember that, then?"

This time around, he nods. He is fairly young when he brings up the question. His father is in the confines of his study, standing by the window and staring out into the distance. He is summoned to practice more, and at some point the question has a will of its own, coming out of sheer distress and boundless frustration. _Why can it never be enough?_ He remembers asking himself. He remembers asking The Bateleur what his mother would say, and if he ever thought of her at all. He remembers being blinded with rage, not knowing better than to keep his mouth shut when it came to his father.

At the time, it was not The Bateleur who answered, but Saito, saying that he did, in fact, think of her. Strangely enough, he was eerily calm, gaze as hard as tone, dragging him back to the present.

"I remember her more than you do." He says. "Time is a strange thing, Seijuro. You'll come to learn this more as we go on. Perhaps we should start now."

He is back in the room with flames, unknowing to all that is happening. He is small and meek in the face of the powerful, kept in the dark yet again. _What's the point in everything, then?_

The questions start crashing down, and he has all but memories to guide him. His father is trying to persuade him into forgetting - and maybe...

Maybe, just maybe, it's for the best.

The voices are telling him to let go. His consciousness drifts away and the darkness swallows him up.

When he wakes up, he is different. Seijuro is but one of many identities, a name bestowed upon him by someone from long ago.

He closes his eyes.

 **"** ** _She's named you Seijuro, I see."- "No less than perfection, Seijuro. Just do what I say."- "The gods are good."- "I'll always be here."- "I love you Seijuro."- "You're a monster-"-_**

 _If I look back, I am lost. [4]_

It becomes his promise to live for the future, and it makes a final requiem for his mother, something she very much deserves.

* * *

 ** _~Five years later~_**

Seijuro is seventeen when his father deems him ready. It is then he takes up on the chance to ask about the 'game'. His father remains silent about it though. Nothing is new.

He is given an address, written in the script which is clearly his father's.

"You are to work for this man. A very important man. Call him a valuable asset, if you may."

Just below the address, it reads, _Sanada Naoto_. Seijuro knows the name. There is only room to ask why, and what said man has to do with the game itself.

"We are in collaboration with the circus this time around." Saito explains, "Sanada has agreed upon taking Phantasmagoria as the venue for the game."

"Am I correct to assume that I'll be meeting my opponent there as well?"

Saito seemed to contemplate this. "Perhaps, perhaps not. Do not _assume_ , Seijuro, I've taught you better than that." He snaps, "If even the slightest bit of it stayed in your head, we would have a much more productive conversation than this."

Indeed, they would - yet a lot more was going on in Seijuro's mind at the time. It could very well be their last conversation, is what Seijuro thinks in his head. His father cannot always be a constant presence in his life, not now that he's being sent off, not when his father himself has clearly spoken on how he wants to stay out of it as much as possible. He is involved more than he thinks, but Seijuro will spare him all the details, much which still remains hidden to him.

His father has said as much though - that he has taught him everything there is to know, and that once he's off, he's on his own. It is his stage, and his father will be but a spectator. He knows that there will be some meddling involving his father, but they go only as far as words whispered into the wind. The decision is entirely up to Seijuro, Saito says, and he knows it. The time has come.

 _"Rendre fiere." [5]_

They are words of parting, endings making way for new beginnings. It is his father's way of saying goodbye.

* * *

[1] **_The Bateleur_** \- the street performer in French. It was used in the book as a term, but I just figured I'd refer to Akashi's father as that. We won't see much of him any more, I would like to think.

[2] **"** ** _Things seen are temporal, and things unseen are eternal."_** \- Quote from the Story of My Life by Helen Keller.

[3] **_In the world of magic, he learns that there are no miracles, only what is thought to be impossible made possible by more than ordinary means_** **.** \- There's this argument that miracles are whatever's thought impossible made possible in the most unexpected of times. There's more to it than it seems. Miracles can't just _happen,_ and they're not that _timely_ , else, every magician of their kind would be boundlessly fortunate. That would be overly convenient.

[4]- **_"If I look back, I am lost."_** \- quote by Daenerys Targaryen in A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin.

[5]- **_"rendre fiere"-_** French for "make her proud". I wanted an alternative for parting words instead of the Bowen family motto in the book (which is pretty awesome and may pop up in this fic someday), and since the Latin counterpart of 'make her proud' is too long, I went for French. It refers to Akashi Shiori.

Thank you for reading~ :D Till next time. Also, if there are any requests concerning this story, let me know. I won't guarantee anything, but either way, I won't bite.


End file.
